Pitiful Routine
by Got Buttermilk
Summary: Prowl thinks he's got it all figured out. Then he's pulled out to dance.  Slash


**Title: **Pitiful Routine

**Summary: **Prowl thinks he's got it all figured out. Then he's pulled out to dance.

'**Verse: **G1

**Characters/Pairings: **Sideswipe/Prowl-''pre-slash'', mentions of Jazz, Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, Tracks, & Bluestreak

**Warnings: **Slash, Angst, Introspectiveness, & Unbetaed

**Wordcount: **3,237

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><p><strong>AN: **I've been down lately. Hopefully I can soon get some fluffy humour written instead of all this angsty 'yadda yadda', but probably not until my mood has made a one-eighty. Please read, nonetheless :) Pointless, badly-written pre-slash ahead of ye!

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><p>Prowl thrived on Routine.<p>

Refuel. Work. Recharge. Refuel. Work. Recharge. Refuel. Work. Recharge.

It was simple, predictable, efficient. In other words: it _worked. _A structured, schematic existence gave him the clarity and ease he needed to run a base of warriors and, basically, maintain some sense of normality in a reality of War where most seemed to have lost overall focus on _'trivial' _things like ideals. Morals. Ethics.

"_I swear, you should've seen it! I yanked his finger off, right at the second joint! He howled like a femme!"_

But, as Prowl had come to accept, even if their life as a team, a family, now was probably more routine than ever:

Refuel. Work. Fight for their lives. Recharge. Refuel. Work. Fight for their lives. Recharge.

- He still couldn't provide the order for them to breathe in, breathe out. And let it go . . . No, after a seemingly eternity of this impeccable routine they'd stopped listening to him in regards of that one issue. And he, too, stopped trying to deny the troops their right to vent whatever obvious hurt or trauma they had gained from existing in constant uncertainty. _Who'd be the victor tomorrow? Who'd pull whose limbs apart? Wouldn't somebody put an end to the madness soon?_

In the aftermath of a battle these insecurities escalated, but not so much in talk and silent introspective as in more destructive ways. No, after a battle like today's the heaviest of the high-grade was brought forward and consumed, preferably whilst callous remarks were being exchanged or senseless flirting, that everyone would go out of their way to forget in the morning, took place.

Prowl would often observe from the doorway of the rec.-room, rarely to never engaging his comrades.

It wasn't that he didn't understand. It wasn't that they weren't allowed to have parties any longer. When he watched he didn't judge nor interrupt. He answered when someone addressed him, acuity and politeness the words he chose.

And he never took the bait when someone tried to get a rise out of him, when he was testedfor feeling any frustration at all, like the rest of them.

That may cause some to call him cold-sparked, which is fair; everyone is entitled to have his or her opinion. But in reality his spark was as warm and alive as the next one's. That he _knew _what they didn't, what they'd always only guess about and fear, was his burden, his curse.

They would be fighting this war forever. It wouldn't end. None of them would live to see a new generations being raised or a city of Cybertron being revived.

Tomorrow they'd get up again, put a band-aid on the wounds, and return to the battlefields where they'd cut the hurt right open once more, slowly aggravating them all until the scars would be forever visible. Endless.

Prowl thrived on routine. It distracted him perfectly from feeling any pity for himself. And if everybody else were just half as downcast as they appeared in this moment it would be unfair of him to have any sort of selfish thoughts.

He supposed there was some healing in sharing these moments together after battles, sitting together and drinking, as to remind the observer (more than they'd ever be sensible enough to notice themselves) that they still had each other; at least. One big damaged family.

Prowl ventured inside. He didn't often. He shared a few short greetings with some overly excited, over-charged friends of his before seating himself in the far end of the room. He continued his observations.

Sunstreaker was sitting at the opposite end of the room, scowling and nursing a stained, newly welded thigh. His tilted posture spoke of the soreness he must be experiencing. His brother was nowhere near him, which was quite unusual. If one twin went to the medbay, the other would be nearly inconsolable.

Tonight Sideswipe was lounging by the energon-dispenser, body still. At first sight he appeared to as sober as the SiC, but a sudden, unintended lurch and almost-fall had Prowl re-considering that thought. When the roaring laughter subsided and a sheepishly snickering red Lamborghini suddenly caught optic of the black and white mech, Prowl completely abandoned all possible notions of Sideswipe having had any less than five cubes tonight.

Prowl raised an optic-brow in question when the tall, broad tough-liner toddled over, his face one happy smile.

"Sarge!"

Prowl raised his brow impossible higher. He tilted his head in a neutral greeting, though.

"Primus _does_ work in mysterious ways," he slurred on, falling with a heavy _thud _into the seat beside Prowl, "- wha' twist of fate brings you to our li'l gatherin'?"

Prowl looked down to his hip where Sideswipe was eagerly prodding him with the corner of a home-brewed 'grade-cube he'd doubtlessly pulled from his seemingly bottomless subspace supply. He accepted it after formulating how much illogical joy it would bring the red twin to have him take it.

"Thank you." He didn't drink of it but held it protectively in his smaller hands. He nodded towards the golden Lamborghini, "- How's Sunstreaker now?"

Sideswipe grunted softly and looked to where his brother was unwillingly being catered to by an arguing Bluestreak and Tracks, both sounding very insistent on being the one to sit next to him. Sunstreaker didn't look like he minded _that _much, Prowl decided after a moment.

"He'll manage. He always does," the red mech turned his attention back on Prowl again, his back turned on all the other activities happening in the room. "- Slaggin', stubborn _daffodil_ . . ."

"I saw it happen," Prowl spoke gently, hinting that Sideswipe was welcome to talk about the incident from the battle if it'd make him feel better. Prowl knew the value of listening to the troops, took it as a part of his job-description.

Sideswipe seemed more interested in studying his door-wings' soft fluttering. Prowl felt their sensitive sensors slowly react to the strong bass of the music, automatically tuning down the balance between electro-synapses; numbing them.

"It was a very noble thing to do, taking the blow intended for you."

"You've got some dust here . . ." Sideswipe put three fingers to a transforming-seam in his shoulder, making slow sweeping motions with them. Prowl knew he hadn't any dust.

"Sideswipe?"

" . . . " Another grunt. Sideswipe studied his face briefly, "- He only grazed his leg a little."

Prowl reached a hand out and squeezed the broad, red arm. He understood and accepted how Sideswipe was tactile. Comfort didn't come from words, not always. In the younger's case it was definitely easier translated through touch.

The SiC leaned back to take his first, small sip of the high-grade Sideswipe had provided him with. It was already messing up his routine a little to have even accepted the cube, and drinking it? Prowl ignored the stirrings inside and swallowed the burning liquid.

Sideswipe watched with a curious feel to his electric field.

"It's fun to see you here, y'know?" He murmured, tilting his head a fraction to regard him from a different angle; like he was reviewing a work of art. "- It's nice that you're here, really, but you're _so_ _much white _that it's hurting m'optics . . ."

He trailed off with a puzzled expression. Prowl wondered if he was somehow managing to confuse himself.

"Uh, I dun' really know what I'm sayin'-," he shook his head, staring over "- Nevermind, _geez! _I only had two cubes so far, wha's wrong with me tonight!-"

"Sideswipe," Prowl interrupted in his calm voice, efficiently breaking up the red mech's drunken babbling. His spark ached softly for the other. "You're just upset because your brother was hurt today," _and subconsciously frightened because it will doubtlessly happen again tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. _"- I can get you a cube of regular energon to make you feel bet-"

"But Sunstreaker's _fine!_" Sideswipe insisted, stressing the last word out for their neighbour-table to hear. Prowl sat back in his seat and immediately found a servo curling around his wrist, guiding him around slowly to face the bright optics of a drunk, gesturing backwards with a sudden cheeky grin. "- Look at him, lap full of Bluestreak . . . Shameless mech, my brother is-"

"Please. Sideswipe, look at me," Prowl caught the twin's optics with his own, doing his best to communicate that he understood and that it was natural to worry. They all lived in uncertain times and the frustrations and worry that brew from this could be dealt with when armoured with the proper tools and the right attitude.

Sideswipe did look at him, but his optics didn't seem to catch on to the message he wanted to convey. Instead he suddenly leaned forward again:

"Primus. Honestly, were you always this _white?"_

Prowl looked away for a moment, instantaneously feeling shy. That was rare. Sideswipe seemed to understand that 'message' and moved a little back, giving him space.

"Then," the SiC rolled his shoulders just to do something with his body, "- You're fine, I take it. You have no concerns tonight?"

Sideswipe waited with replying that question until he'd taken another look backwards to the lively, nearly desperate festivities.

"I jus' want all the mecha I care about t' be happy," he then mumbled softly. "They sound happy, don't you think?"

"Mmhmm," Prowl knew it was a lie. Jazz' laughter was too shrill tonight, Bumblebee's jokes too half-hearted. They were all secretly miserable. Sideswipe just shrugged without turning to look at the others again.

"I know, right?" his dark fingers reached over again, brushing more non-existing dust from his shoulder-joint. Prowl allowed Sideswipe to touch, aware that the large soldier needed it. The touch. "- You're really pretty," was mumbled softly, "- Can't I get you somethin'? You're jus' sitting there, gotta be bored. Some 'grade, some games?"

"It's alright, Sideswipe. I'm good. As a matter of fact, I should-"

"Please. Somethin'? I wan' you to be happy, too."

Prowl smiled thinly, the soft music flowing from the speakers numbing his sensors slowly. The one drink he'd had from the high-grade was far from enough to get him over-charged, but he felt its heat in his tank nonetheless, and it somehow made his spark pulse just that much faster.

"If that's the case . . . It would make me very happy to see you happy. Can you be happy?"

"Me? You want _me _to ask _you _for somethin'?" Sideswipe looked utterly shocked, like he couldn't really fathom that Prowl was that concerned for his well-being. A moment ticked by before Sideswipe rose from his seated position. He folded his strong arms as he regarded Prowl suspiciously, letting his optics trace down his white and black frame lavishly.

"_Anything _I want?"

Prowl recognised the behaviour as an act instantly and sent him a stern glare, a warning. Sideswipe immediately dropped the sybaritic manners and looked thoughtful again. He hesitated this time, but not out of suspicion.

"Okay . . . Dance w'me?"

"Yes?"

"Yes, please."

_You are serious?_

_Indeed I am, Sarge. Shall we?_

Sideswipe was very much serious, a glint in his optics that Prowl hadn't seen before. The handsome face was carefully neutral, though, as a hand extended to help Prowl up. Prowl took it.

"They may tease you in the morning," Prowl smiled as Sideswipe dragged him gently to the centre of the room, optics following their movement from all around. It was a very slow ballad playing.

"Dun' care, Sarge."

"Very well."

Prowl exhaled slowly as he was pulled closer, long arms wrapping themselves around him like sentient liana twirling around a pole to reach for sunlight and growth. The red hellion Lamborghini whined softly, making the police car look up into his optics.

"This is as close as we get," Prowl explained, servos resting on Sideswipe shoulders. His dance-partner-to-be kept trying to draw him closer, a physically impossible attempt. Their chest-plate designs were very different from each other. "- My bumper is in the way. Sorry."

"We'll find a way," the red mech insisted gently, his minor unsteady ped's shifting and shuffling until Sideswipe was standing behind Prowl, broad, long fingers carefully spreading the numbed door-wings. His taller body stepped in, pressing close.

"Is this okay?"

Prowl found it kind of him to ask, but inessential. He trusted each and every Autobot, knew them all somewhat intimately. Where there always was a rather significant possibility that Sideswipe's intentions towards him might turn romantic with time they were still only experimental for now. They would dance tonight, nothing more. With time . . ?

He leaned backwards into the other's embrace, folding his wings around Sideswipe's body, both shielding and returning the affectionate hold.

Prowl let Sideswipe rock them back and forth on the floor, his servos resting calmly on the large arms that encircled his waist tightly. The patchwork of scars that covered the strong, poppy-red metal was strangely pretty to look at. The body pressing against his back was warm.

"You're very quiet tonight, Sideswipe," Prowl spoke softly.

"D'you wan' me to speak?"

"Not if you consider it unnecessary. I merely wondered out loud."

"This is sufficient," arms tightened for emphasis. The SiC chuckled.

"'Sufficient'? You're clearly not at intoxicated as I first believed if you can articulate such big words."

"Huh," Sideswipe leaned his larger frame down until his head was resting on Prowl's shoulder, "Y'know, most big words I've learned has come from listenin' to you preach us proper behaviour . . ."

"So if you _were _listening all this time how come you still get yourself in trouble?"

Prowl felt the mouth grinning against his plating. Sideswipe gave them a mildly wilder spin on the floor and managed to, by some miracle, successfully dodge the other dancing couples that had now joined them, swaying slowly all around.

"'Tis a gift, I s'ppose."

"Mmhmm," Prowl hummed softly and settled back against the younger's warmth and tickling electro-field. The youthful feel to the other made Prowl's spark ache anxiously, his fingertips tracing the deep wounds in the arms oscillating him around in dance.

The other dancers started to leave the floor slowly, the partygoers dissolving. Very few words were exchanged as the army split for their private chambers. About six left as couples for the night, but Prowl decided not to make note of whom.

Sideswipe sighed into his shoulder, seeming about to say something. Instead he clasped Prowl shoulder tightly and retracted himself from their locked embrace. A wave was his only _'good recharge'_ before the red twin broke from the room.

'_Sufficient'_, Prowl mused to himself. _For now._

He took a last look around the emptying rec.-room as he made a few mental notes about broken furniture and messy tables. Nothing too bad, he admitted. Like usual, Jazz and Bumblebee remained to clean up a bit. He offered his assistance but it was declined with two kind smiles.

Prowl left.

Tomorrow the shifts started again and the base would appear just as before. The good old routine never failed. A few mechs would wake up in another's berth, but no one judged. And only rarely would there be demanded something unfeasible like 'commitment' from one end of the couple to the other which would lead to conflict, to more hurt.

Luckily, the scarred and damaged mostly went out of their way to avoid drama and more pain. The hang-over they'd wake up with would be enough to be regretful about. But everybody would return to their posts, continue working and living.

Prowl thrived on routine.

And, as he admitted the second his helm touched the berth and warmth engulfed his back, the dreaded day, where a certain red imp would get the brilliant epiphany that a romantic thrust between an officer and a soldier might be a clever idea, should in reality never be something to look forward to. It would most definitely shatter all illusions of routine and order.

With an army depending on his clear-sight and calm it would be foolish to indulge himself or another; either way it would only be deluding. And furthermore cruel on their already fragile wound-scabs.

Prowl would have to live with routine.

He sighed again, his tired limbs heavy. An itch near his nasal-plate bothered him slightly but he had fallen asleep before he even got to consider raising his hand to do something about it.

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.

.

And true to his own musings the world returned to normal the following morning; no drama, no raw, chaotic feelings revealed. The Autobot joked together, fought together, joined together intimately, but impersonal at the same time. Routine was maintained without a flaw.

Optics would lock on occasions, but the connections was quickly broken by the ever sensible Prowl. His so-called 'clear-sight' told him that anything else would be improper now. Nothing excused him of his duty to his cause and his men. He owed them nothing but efficiency, focus, and a morally correct course of actions.

Routine was his ultimate safety net and everybody who took the time to get to know him would realize that after a short while. Prowl couldn't possibly imagine himself living by any other rules.

All that said, the Autobot SiC always was and always had been the one to keep a cool head in the chaos and always quick to make sense of the illogical. In every other sentient creature's eyes he'd be the first to turn a possible drastic turn of events into something they could work for their advantage, see the light in the darkness.

He wasn't promoted Chief Tactician all that time ago for nothing.

. . . But his long, exhausting day of routine would always have him deep in recharge before that train of thought would pass through his brilliant processors. Pity, really, that he'd never know.

Some day, thought, they'd tell him it all. Help him see clear and overcome it, his one possible flaw.

After all, they agreed as one that he of all mechs deserved to dance.

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_Fin_

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**A/N: ***epic sigh* I'm not satisfied with this. At all. But rest assured, in case you enjoy the pairing, since this won't be my last attempt at these two! No way!

I'd love to read your opinions, be it praise or constructive criticism (I'll take it like a man!) See you soon, I hope, in another story! Take Care


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